Daniella

Somewhere in the scorching sands of the Sahara lies an oasis named Daniella. 

With a gentle sparkling top of blue barricaded by green, she’s a beauty. A blessing. And the very thing that Ivan had been seeking for the past three months of his life. 

His days would go something like this: rise with the sun, walk underneath

it, stop to drink from his thinning thermos, continue his march, and when the sun had finally set, he’d sink to the ground and pray for the entire night that this would be the last day of his suffering. He wouldn’t even dare to say His name; he just folded his hands together, felt his shins go static underneath his weight, and thought. About how he wanted the heat exhaustion to end. About how his water could be replenished by the morning. About how some miracle could bring rain to drench his body and mind in renewing. 

But the one thing he never, never asked was his patience to be restored. As time went on, that patience never seemed to thin. As a matter of fact, it grew. With every single step he knew he was one step closer to finding Her. She was one step less from their great distance. And despite being abused by the sun and its punishment, Ivan wouldn’t allow his mind to go as far as to make him turn around. 

It all came down to getting up the next morning and making the next step. And then the one after that. Another. They would be something like this: Right foot. Sink. Left foot. Sink. Right foot. Sink. Left…

He hoped he was going in the right direction. He didn’t have a map--he didn’t believe he needed one. His heart felt like a compass; it was always magnetized to Her. If he dared to go in misdirection, he would know. His chest would pang and he would nearly buckle. But when he calculated correctly, the dial would chime and the butterflies would rile up. Just like old times. 

It’s day 87. Ivan’s skin is practically peeling off of his bare arms. His muscles ache. His eyes tear; but, his heart is humming within, and even though it is as minimal as his water supply, he keeps on. 

Along the way, he talks to himself. The journey has made him insane. But, rather than trying to knot the last flailing strings of his sanity, he let them go as they pleased. He knew Daniella would be the one to restore them. Now, if he could actually get there…

He laughs, thinking about the impossibility of being surrounded in gold but not finding the treasure he was looking for. That’s when a voice speaks: 

“Ivan Merchant. Age 68. Condition: Stable.”

It cracks along the sky, but Ivan does what he does best, and that’s just let it be. Daniella will solve it. Daniella will solve all, like she was promised to do his entire life. 

Now, if she hadn’t left and abandoned him, then, surely, he wouldn’t be insane at all. He wouldn’t be sweaty and beastly and unraveling, but like many other things, this one will come back. 

She will come back.

He lifts his hand to wipe the beads of sweat over his brow. 

“Ivan Merchant. Age 68. Condition: Stable.”

That’s when he feels it: a slight caress against the back of his neck. A kiss of air, he realizes. He feels the places that it touched, and underneath his fingertips, his body vibrates with the renewal. He understands now. Another one brushes his hair back. His lungs seize and he begins to walk with a greater purpose. Because, after all, finding Her is his purpose; it may take him until tomorrow or next year, but in that time he will never waste a day not journeying to Her. 

“Daniella,” he sings to himself. “Daniella, Daniella. I will find  you again.”

“Ivan Merchant. Age 68. Condition: unstable.” 

Reaching to the belt, he unfastens his water bottle. He tips the liquid back into his throat once. Twice. Thrice. He tries to go for a fourth to rehydrate the rock in his mouth but can’t. He knots his brows in the confusion and lifts the thermos in the air, flipping it upside down. 

He watches the final drop moisten the sand. 

“Ivan Merchant. Age 68. Condition: unstable.”

A new feeling takes hold. A violent swarm of fear is consuming him from the inside out and now he marches with a reignited purpose. No, he’s skipping. Jogging. Sprinting and then leaping wherever that inner compass leads him. He feels that familiar tug and turns, going in an all new direction. More skips, more leaps, more breathlessness and he’s sinking. Sinking onto his knees and into the sand, sweat dribbling into his mouth as if he could catch it and use it to fuel the rest of his trek. Their salty tang only makes him salivate for the real thing. 

“I have to find Her,” he gasps, then rears up onto his feet with whatever last bouts of energy he has. He then shouts, loudly, “DANIELLA! DANIELLA, WHERE ARE YOU!”

An alarm begins to blare. He clutches his ears to silence it, but it does nothing. It’s as if the ringing is coming from inside of him. Like a cry for help. Or a sign of his impending death. 

He can barely hear his own screams over the alarm. Now, he crawls. His hands are burning from the sand and his muscles are shriveling to limp. Hot tears streak down his face and he’s reaching his hand out as if somehow, someway, She would find him instead. 

His heart roars, it flies, it’s beating so rapidly that it might as well not be beating at all. And then--

Pang. 

“Ivan Merchant. Age 68. Condition: unstable.”

Pang.

And then another voice speaks. 

“Initiate a code blue, immediately!” 

Ivan’s eyes begin to roll in the back of his head. His body grows cold, which is actually quite relieving under the aggressive heat. He attempts one more crawl, his fingernails grabbing at the farthest possible grains as if that would get him there closer. No, immediately. He needed to get to Her now. 

Another crawl. The movement is so minute that it didn’t advance him farther than an inch. His muscles recoiled inside. He feels each of them snap from exhaustion. First, the ones in his thighs. Then, his abdomen. And finally, his arms, leaving him laying face down in the sand, one arm reaching out and the other tucked uncomfortably underneath his body. 

He inhales, uncaring of the sand that gets into his nostrils. His arm is numb underneath his dead weight. His vision blurs and creates a web of suns coming onto him all at once. And with a final breath, he feels his brain mush, his heart cramp, and…And…

Feels something wet against the tip of his finger. 

“Next shock incoming. All hands off of the body.”

He takes his last remaining strength to lift his chin. He follows the length of his elongated arm upward and bellows. His lungs ache from his gratitude, but, whatever! She would heal them. 

Because She is here. Daniella. 

Ivan spider crawls forward. His arms grow drenched from the water. Then, his chest, and eventually his entire body is submerged in Her water. He feels his muscles relax and restore, and the most important one of them all beats to life again. He turns onto his back, letting Her carry him, and stares at the sun in mockery. 

“Ivan Merchant. Age 68. Condition now stable.” 

He allows his eyes to close. The sound of the palm trees swaying in Her breeze relaxes him to a light sleep. He focuses more and goes deeper, and deeper, and deeper… 

“He is awake,” somebody says over his body. “Let’s get a new bag for his IV. We need to hydrate him immediately.”

Ivan’s eyes fly open at the sound. The orange of the sun transforms into the sterile white of a light bulb over his head. He blinks, his eyes adjusting on their own to the popcorn ceiling overheard. He glances down at the thin gown covering his body. And he jerks up. 

People suited in dark blue scrubs filter in and out of this room he is in. Something beeps in the background. Chords are coming out of his right arm and his chest is open and bare to the cold air. 

One of the nurses looks at him. Her eyes widen and she peels her mask over her nose. She presses a button beside his bed and attempts to lean him back down. 

“What is this? Why am I here?” Ivan spit as he talks, his eyes wide and wild. He fights against the nurse and practically throws her off of him. “Where am I?” 

“Mr. Merchant.” At the doorway, a man stands in a stark white coat. His glasses are held low on his nose, his hair graying at the edges. “Mr. Merchant, I am Doctor Greeves. Please, lie down and relax--” 

“Relax?” Ivan challenges. “Relax--? I don’t understand. Where is she?” 

“Where is who?” 

“Daniella. I have worked three months to find her. You took her from me! Why would you do that?” 

The doctor dips his head to speak to the nurse, who nods quickly and hurries out of the room. He glances back up at Ivan, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. Ivan, however, grows tense underneath it. 

“Do you remember what happened?” 

Ivan’s body fought against his memories. When he tries to bring up whatever had occurred, his lungs heave and his head grows heavy. “Oh my God, I am dying. I think that I am dying.” 

“No, you are not dying, Ivan. Take deep breaths for me, okay?” 

He tries, but it does nothing. “Did you take her from me?” 

The doctor freezes, attempts to adjust his glasses, then gives up and takes them off. “Ivan,” he begins. “Daniella hasn’t been here for three months. She hasn’t been at your home, she hasn’t been here…Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Ivan does. But he wishes he doesn’t. 

“Do you remember what happened?” The doctor asks again. 

Ivan presses his lips together and stares at his hands that lie open in his lap. His eyes follow the trail from his middle finger to his wrist. To the engorged stitches that line vertically. 

“She is safe now. You know that, right?” 

He closes his eyelids and imagines that oasis again. He imagines the three months in the desert, the grueling heat. He recalls lying in Her water, feeling safe, steady, alive. He then realizes: that is what surviving must feel like.